


Flip Side

by MixterGlacia



Series: RvB Wing Fics [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Heavy Angst, M/M, Past MaineWash, Past Relationship(s), Trauma, Wingfic, bs'ing medical stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 22:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11300469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MixterGlacia/pseuds/MixterGlacia
Summary: Wash bargains with the Meta after he's shot by South





	Flip Side

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be a normal angst-y thing then it decided to become a wingfic

_ Why am I doing this.  _ He thought, resolutely glaring at the mirrored glass keeping the Counselor safe. As if that fucking starling needed to be protected. Wash was well aware he couldn’t try anything here. God he hated that voice. Wash’s talons curl into the padded soles of his boots instinctively.

 

This errand shit had to stop, he decided while he packed the supplies and rations he’d need for this trip into his subspace storage unit. Pocket dimensions? Yup, anyone with cash could get them no problem. Treating your payroll as actual people instead of glorified guinea pigs? Nope, too difficult.

 

One of his wings catches in the seams of his armor when he snaps the chestplate on. Wash flinches, swearing quietly as he unhooks it, smoothing his disheveled primaries down. Ever since Epsilon, he felt like he was a fledgling again, unsure of where to place his wings. Many days he woke up unaware he even had them. Epsilon had been wingless, so that must be why, he’d decided. 

 

It fucking sucked. However, it didn’t change the fact that he had a job to do. Wash stares at the one personal touch left in his locker. Gone were the cat pictures and skateboards. Just one photo was left. It was of all of them. Everyone had grouped up for a pub crawl during shore leave. York was leaning on Wash’s shoulder, grinning at the camera, his wings being shoved out of the way by Carolina, where she sat just behind them. She’s scowling in that way that says, “You’re an idiot, but it’s okay I guess.” 

 

South is trying to talk CT into doing body shots, while North is beet red and telling the bartender to cut her off. Florida is laughing warmly, snuggled against Wyoming, fitting perfectly between the narrow space between his shoulder and wing. The snowy owl has curved the feathers so the pair were almost hidden before the shutter clicked. Tex is quietly watching from the corner of the bar, still in her armor. Maine sits beside her, caught off guard by the impromptu photo op. 

 

Wash’s wings shake for a moment. He slams the door shut before he gives in to the urge to shred the picture.

 

* * *

 

 

_ Why am I doing this  _  Is all that comes to mind as he slips into the well worn role of Recovery One. After you deal with disposing of one dead friend, the rest aren’t so hard. You burn one, you’ve burned them all.

 

It should bother him. It doesn’t. 

 

AI units were another thing entirely. They bother the ever loving shit out of him. He’s glad that Delta is understanding of that fact. He’d always sort of liked the guy...he liked pretty much all of them. Except for Epsilon and …

 

His fingers curl over the storage unit. Delta blinks into sight.

 

_ “If I may speak with you, Agent Washington?” _

 

The gravel grinds beneath his boots for hours. He doesn't have to humor the AI if he doesn’t want to. Eventually they reach a somewhat safe alcove and stop for the night. He sighs softly as he unclips the chest plate to stretch his slim wings. “What did you want, Delta.”

 

_ “I recommend the utmost of caution. There is only so much I can do to help you without implantation.” _

 

“Y’know, I’m not the pathetic rookie that you guys always wanted to see me as, right?” Snaps the man, wings buzzing for a moment out of frustration. He sets about tucking them away so he can put his armor on again.

 

_ “That is not what I meant to imply. My apologies. Regardless, I think we both know who’s killing the-” _

 

“You mean  _ what’s _ killing. Not who’s.”

 

_ “...Agent Washington, he is a man driven to monstrous acts by his AI. However, he is still a man. De-humanizing him will not change that fact.” _

 

Wash grabs at his pistol, intent on cleaning it to distract himself. He pulls the grip away, and in his haste, it cracks slightly. Wash throws it to the ground, deciding he can just get another gun later. He was looking for a new one anyway. 

 

_ “I know it is not what you want to hear but he-” _

 

“You mean, ‘but  _ it _ ”, Delta.” he snarls, throwing the rest of the gun towards where Delta is projecting himself. It hammers his point home. The unit pauses, flickering with uncertainty. 

 

_ “If you insist, Agent Washington. My point still stands. You must remain at your absolute best if you want either of us to make it through this intact. An encounter with...it is unavoidable.” _

 

Wash stares at the distress beacon on his HUD. If North was gone...fucking hell. “I’m more than aware of that. Got anything else I already know, smartass?”

 

_ “If you will listen? Yes.” _

 

He snorts a bit, rolling his shoulders as he stands to loosen the knot forming between them. “I might. Depends on what it is.”

 

_ “I would greatly appreciate not meeting Sigma, if the encounter can be avoided.” _

 

A cold, humorless laugh rings within the confines of his helmet. There was the Delta that Wash remembered. If you didn’t know the AI you’d think this was nothing more than a request. Wash recognized the AI’s version of sarchasm easily by now. That was the Delta who popped in during parties to give York the exact percentage of his blood alcohol content and recommending that  _ “You should not, as you would say, ‘get shit-faced’ when you have the first training block tomorrow.” _

 

He takes an unsteady breath. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep that from happening, Delta.”

 

_ “Thank you, Agent Washington.”  _

 

“Don’t thank me, damn it.” Wash grumbles as he starts walking again. They continue in silence until the old hummer comes over the ridge, seeing South collapsed on the ground beside her brother. “Just get back into storage.”

 

_ “Of course.” _

 

* * *

 

 

_ Why am I doing this.  _ He thought, air still ringing with the shot he fired into the dirt next to her.

 

_ Why am I doing this.  _ He thought as he rigged North’s body to detonate, hands steady as stone, but wings trembling under his armor.

 

_ Why am I doing this.  _ He thought as he lead South to where he intended to lay out the trap. 

 

_ Why am I doing this.  _ He thought as he handed Delta to her. It was too late to go back.

 

_ Why are  _ **_you_ ** _ doing this.  _ He thinks, feeling like he swallowed lead as a gold domed helmet slip out from behind the wall. His-- it’s wings were flared. The over the top threat displays didn’t scare him. Just because he was a hummingbird didn’t mean he was going to piss himself at the sight of an owl. 

 

_ Why did you do it.  _ Haunts Wash as the rounds burrow into his side. He takes aim at it’s wings, punishing it for thinking it could get away with leaving them open to attack. The arrogance of thinking it didn’t need to stay behind cover.

 

_ Why am I doing this for them.  _ Is what Wash is thinking, barking orders at South and Delta. Then hollow points are ripping into him, carving through meat and shattering the bone connecting his right wing to his body. To Wash’s credit, he doesn’t cry out. He fights to stay awake, as long as he can, listening to South making deals with it.

 

For a short time, he’s out for the count.

 

_ Why am I alive.  _ Is what he thinks when he wakes, blinking hard at the warnings flashing on his visor. He’s being man handled, helmet tossed off carelessly.

 

It must’ve disarmed the charge she’d set. Joy.

 

The rattles and growls are so painfully familiar, Wash tilts his head to the side to spit out blood that had pooled in his mouth. 

 

“Been a while.” Wash rasps, feathers matted with even more blood. He notices one of the Meta’s wings is hanging limp. An idea forms in the back of his mind. “Listen up.”

 

_ Why am I doing this. _

 

A snarl. Fire sparks over it’s shoulder.  **_“ Yes, Agent Washington~?”_ **

 

“Fuck off, Sigma. I’m only going to talk to Maine.” He hisses, crest weakly flaring. “You know I don’t need you.” If he was going to die, he was going to do it with style.

 

The flames pop lightly.  **_“...Fine.”_ ** The fire snuffs out, and it’s shoulders slump down. Another growl, this one, Wash recognizes instantly.

 

_ “I’m listening.” _

 

Wash struggles to sit up, the Meta shoving him back down. He glares up at the owl. “Look. We’re both damaged, but there’s only one healing unit.”

 

_ “So?” _

 

“So, let’s trade. You help me out and I’ll give you the unit, no fuss, no reporting your location. The works. You get the shit you want, and I get the shit I want.” He rambles, pushing the arm holding him down away and sitting up. He feels the blood drain along his back.

 

_ “Stranded. You’ll die anyway.” _

 

“You really think I give a shit about that?” Wash gasps painfully, already wrestling with his chestplate.

 

_ “I wish you did.” _

 

“Bullshit!” The armor lands with an echoing clang. White hot agony almost blinds him when the air hits his wound. Faintly he registers large hands keeping him steady. It takes all of Wash’s focus to keep from vomiting or passing out again.

 

_ “If that’s what you want to believe.”  _  The Meta turns him so he can see the damage South had done.

 

It was something Maine had said all the time before Sigma. If an argument started up and it was clear it wouldn’t be resolved, he’d end it with those words. The deeply buried grief and rage boiled in his chest. He attempted to flare his uninjured wing, voice cracking. “You would have killed me, dick! Why do you want me to care if I make it or not?!”

 

_ “Someone has to.”  _ it rattles, manipulating his bad wing. Wash can’t help the pitiful yelp that bubbles up from his throat.

 

The Meta goes still for a moment.  _ “Even with the healing unit, I can’t save this. Bones are wrecked.” _

 

“Then rip it off, asshole!” He rages, trying to mask the total horror starting to snatch at the edges of his mind. “The longer you sit on your ass, the more time you’re giving infection a chance to set in! Shoot me or fix me!” He chokes back a cry when the Meta pulls it back. “Y-Yours too, it’ll get gangrene or some shit.”

 

_ “Mine’s not bad.”  _ It’s already retrieving the field kit from his subspace pocket, laying the supplies out on a small tarp.

 

“That’s a lie and you know it!”

 

The Meta shrugs.  _ “It’s a shame.”  _ is all it offers, injecting the local anesthetic with no warning. The owl rolls him so he’s laying on his stomach, wing drawn across its lap.

 

“What? What’s a shame?”

 

_ “To half clip you.”  _ The laser scalpel is charging up, the heat making its presence clear.

 

“Boo hoo, get over it. Stop pretending you care, Meta.” Wash mocks. He can’t let himself be drawn in again. “Maine’s dead.”

 

_ “Then why ask for him. If he is dead, then what am I?”  _ Even with the helmet, Wash can tell he is being stared down. It sends his stomach into writhing knots.  _ “I am still alive, and I still care for you.” _

 

“Stop playing games!” 

 

_ “Believe what you want.”  _ The Meta (...or Maine?) growls, pulling the damaged wing straight up and picking up the scalpel with his free hand.  _ “I decided to help. That’s what counts.” _

 

The laser bites into Wash’s flesh and he passes out. He thinks it’s for the best that he wouldn’t have to struggle with this whole situation anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

The Meta sets Washington near the outskirts of the closest city, in a place that he will easily be found. They sigh hard, healing unit still working to knit the muscle of their wing back into place.

 

**_“What troubles you?”_ ** asks Sigma, looking on with mild curiosity.  **_“You have gone above and beyond for him. We don’t have to stay here any longer.”_ **

 

_ “Don’t want to let him go.”  _ they...Maine admits.

 

**_“You know why we must. He wouldn’t have the same feelings of us. He’d leave us in an instant.”_ **  Sigma scoffs.

 

_ “You don’t know that.” _

 

**_“It doesn’t matter.”_ ** The AI’s voice is laced with danger.  **_“We’re going. Now.”_ **

 

The Meta turns and does not look back.

 

* * *

 

 

Wash wakes, feeling unbalanced. He takes in his surroundings and whispers to himself, “Why am I still doing this?” 


End file.
